


Roses

by orphean



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: As far as Harvey was concerned, it was a normal Thursday.‘Mr Dent, there’s a bouquet of flowers here for you.’ His secretary’s voice was tinny through the intercom.‘Flowers? I didn’t order any flowers.’‘It’s Valentine’s Day, sir. They’re from that nice place up at Fourth Street.’
Relationships: Harvey Dent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I joked [on twitter](https://twitter.com/_orphean/status/1360947009021235201?s=21) that Bruce is too much of a coward to ask Harvey out so he sends him roses at the office and whoops my hand slipped.

As far as Harvey was concerned, it was a normal Thursday.

‘Mr Dent, there’s a bouquet of flowers here for you.’ His secretary’s voice was tinny through the intercom.

‘Flowers? I didn’t order any flowers.’

‘It’s Valentine’s Day, sir. They’re from that nice place up at Fourth Street.’ 

Harvey stared at the intercom and thought about it. It was possible that this was a trap. Perhaps Doctor Isley, making a statement of the commercialisation of love. Perhaps the Joker, taking the opportunity to make a nuisance of himself. Harvey ran through different potential options, none of them feeling right. Perhaps there was a new criminal in town. Then again, it could be something Harvey had not even allowed himself to considered at first; maybe it was just a bouquet of flowers.

After asking his secretary to bring the flowers, he closed the door and put the package on his desk. It was big, potentially big enough to hide a bomb. The weight didn’t seem right – it felt too light to have any kind of machinery hidden. Harvey used an envelope opener to cut the tape keeping the wrapping secured and revealed the content. Two dozen red roses, tied together with golden string.

He spent a few moments looking over the roses, checking the open buds and peeking between the stems for any sign of trouble. Finally, he felt satisfied that it was just a bouquet, albeit an expensive and elaborate one. He hoped Batman would have been proud of the care he took in confirming this.

He called his secretary on the intercom.

‘Sierra, could you come in here for a moment?’

Moments later, Sierra let herself in, pen and pad at the ready.

‘Boss, what’s u– oh, those are _stunning_.’ She walked up to the desk and touched the wrapping. ‘I didn’t know you were seeing someone, Mr Dent. Would you like me to find a vase for these?’

‘If you could, I’d appreciate that.’ He decided not to address her comment. ‘If you could also send someone to – what’s that chocolate place on Bond Avenue called?’

‘Bond-bons?’ Sierra replied, a question mark in her voice. She clicked her pen.

‘Yes, Bond-bons.’ He knew that it had had a stupid name. He pulled out his wallet and found a few notes. ‘Could you get me one of their gift boxes? Whatever looks good. I’ll need them before I leave today.’

Sierra looked surprised at the request. Harvey had never asked any of his staffers to help with anything that wasn’t strictly professional, but he was due to be in meetings for the next five hours and would not have the time to go there himself. Finally, his secretary accepted the money.

‘Right you are, Mr Dent. I’ll get right on that. Do you want to keep the flowers here while I fetch some water or should I take them with me?’

‘You can take them; I need to head to city hall anyway. Just bring them back when you’ve found something to put them in.’

Throughout the rest of the day, Harvey kept thinking about the red roses. There hadn’t been a name or even a greeting attached to the bouquet, but he had a pretty good guess. And, God, he hoped he was right.

* * *

‘Master Dent! I wasn’t expecting you.’

Harvey considered Alfred with the same distant fear and respect he had felt for his friends’ parents growing up. There was something so definite, so precise, about everything Alfred did that even though Bruce told him time and again that he was just a nice old man, Alfred frightened him a little.

‘Is Bruce home?’ 

It had started drizzling when he pulled out of the garage downtown and the drizzle had turned into torrential rain as he approached the city limits and turned right onto the Wayne estate. The twenty yards he had to walk from where he parked his car to the massive oak doors of the manor had been enough for the rain to work its way between Harvey’s neck and shirt collar. Stubborn drops of icy water rolled down his back. He pushed his damp hair out of his face and did his best looking more like a District Attorney (which he was) and less like a child asking a friend’s father if he could come play (which he wasn’t).

‘He’s been exercising. I’m not sure if he’s quite done yet. Please wait in the sitting room and I’ll fetch him for you. No reason for you to stay out in the rain, sir.’

Alfred ushered him inside and disappeared before Harvey could point out that he knew where the home gym was and he could find Bruce himself. He pulled off his trenchcoat and dabbed his face dry with his scarf. At least his briefcase was waterproof.

An open fire roared in the sitting room. Harvey appreciated its dry warmth and the crackling, which helped soothe his racing heart. He put his briefcase by the sofa closest to the fire and warmed his fingers, rubbing each finger to bring the circulation back. Gotham got so damn cold. He watched the fire, the way the flames licked along the logs and broke them down, little by little, turning the wood first yellow, then red, then burning black. He didn’t know how long he waited, but it was long enough that Harvey jumped when he heard the door to the sitting room open.

‘Sorry it took me so long; I was in the middle of something.’

Bruce closed the door behind him. Harvey realised that he was dressed for bed, silk pyjamas covered by a velvet-collared dressing robe. His hair was damp and mussed in a way that suggested to Harvey that Bruce had tried to rub it dry before giving up. For a single, panicked moment, Harvey wondered if Bruce had someone – _a woman_ , his jealous mind added – over and when Alfred had said _exercising_ he had only been euphemistic. It was, after all, Valentine’s Day, and Harvey knew Bruce’s thoughts about sex.

(Bruce’s thoughts about sex were, as he had once mentioned to Harvey after five scotches: intense and often, please.)

‘I don’t mind. I’m sorry for just dropping in unannounced.’ Harvey considered apologising and offering to come back another day, but he wasn’t a coward. He was brave enough to have this conversation.

‘So, Harv.’ Bruce had his hands in the pockets of the robe and he studied Harvey with a lazy gaze, his head tilted so he could look down at him. ‘What brings you here on this dark and stormy night?’

‘I know you sent me those roses, Bruce.’

Bruce’s eyes flashed bright before he tempered himself. He worked his jaw.

‘Would you believe me if I said I do that for all of my friends?’ There were jagged edges to his voice, as if he were keeping himself in check, as if he were so close to breaking.

‘No, Bruce, I wouldn’t.’ Harvey stood and rummaged in his briefcase, before he found what he was looking for. He took a step closer to Bruce. He didn’t shy away, not quite. ‘You’re not a very good liar. This is for you.’

Bruce studied the black box with its red bow for several long seconds before he accepted it and pulled at the ribbon.

‘Chocolates.’ He frowned at the contents before looking up at Harvey, a question in his eyes.

‘Typically the same person will give the flowers _and_ the chocolate. But, I thought. Well. Between the two of us I thought we could figure it out.’

Harvey hated being at a loss for words, stumbling after a way to explain his feelings. He had assumed that it had been the same for Bruce. He had seen how Bruce looked at him when he didn’t think Harvey could see. He was more than aware of how he looked at Bruce. He had assumed that they had been at peace with their unspoken could-have-been, that a district attorney and a billionaire being in love sounded more like the set-up for a joke than something true. (Not to mention the media angle: he could kiss his re-election goodbye if he ever so much as intimated that he was anything other than straight; and though Wayne Enterprises tried to keep its stock value separate from the eponymous troublemaker, a scandal of this size was sure to rock the boat.) He had always assumed nothing would happen. He had always assumed Bruce didn’t want anything to happen.

But then Bruce sent him two dozen roses.

Harvey looked at Bruce looking at the chocolates. Bruce’s shoulders were tight. After what felt like an eternity, Bruce tossed the lid of the chocolates to the side and reached for one of the truffles with his long elegant fingers. He met Harvey’s gaze and bit into the truffle, a dusting of cocoa getting caught in the lines of his upper lip. Harvey watched Bruce move the chocolate in his mouth and he heard the _crack_ when he crushed the shell between his molars. He licked his lips, the pale tip of his tongue catching the cocoa powder and leaving his mouth wet.

Bruce held up the half-eaten truffle and Harvey, as if in a trance, opened his mouth. Bruce placed the chocolate on his tongue and when Harvey closed his mouth, he could feel the brush of Bruce’s thumb against his lower lip. He pressed the truffle against the roof of his mouth. Dark chocolate with a raspberry chocolate mousse. The bright acidity and sweetness of the raspberry married perfectly with the dark chocolate’s bitterness. Bruce watched his mouth work.

‘I’m not sure if we can figure it out.’ He admitted this with his fingertips ghosting over Harvey’s mouth. ‘But I’d like to try.’

When Harvey kissed him and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close, Bruce tasted like chocolate, raspberries, and cream. Bruce’s fingers in Harvey’s hair, wet from the rain. Harvey’s fingers in Bruce’s hair, wet from the shower. Already now, even after this very first kiss, Bruce felt like a half-remembered dream about a perfect life, the kind of dream one longs for forever. There was no way this would end well. But Harvey wanted to try.


End file.
